It's her
by oddment
Summary: This is a look into the mind of our at present rather confused Hermione. Yes, it is femslash HrG, and it's my first fanfic story


This is my first try at fanfiction in general, so of course it is also my first try in femslash ;)

Originally, I wrote this story in german (the german version is also on under the title "Sie") and translated it afterwards. As English is not my mothertongue and I haven't got a beta reader yet, I hope there aren't too many grammar or idiomatic mistakes...

DISCLAIMER: All characters, names of Places and whatsoever belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. I just borrowed them to take them on a short trip ;)

Reviews are appreciated, but keep it fair :)

It's her

„When in doubt, go to the library." Yes, this is, what Ron would say if he had to characterize me in one sentence.

And there certainly is some truth in it.

Never had I thought of a situation, in which no book in the whole library of Hogwarts could help me.

Even if there was an emotion-distangling-charm in one of the big old books. Or a recipe for a potion against odd twinges in your stomach in inconvenient moments.

But do I really want it to stop anyway?

Even if I have already enough on my mind without all that.

All these thoughts and the worries about Harry, who, in a way, seems to be out of reach to anybody, even more since Sirius fell through the veil. And of course I miss Sirius, too, even if at times I could have given him a good shaking. Of course I am also very relieved that at least nobody else of us has suffered real serious injuries.

And besides, even if this might sound ridiculous to anyone but me, there are still the O.W.L. results to come, which we will receive by owl one not so fine day in the holidays. Sure, they all think that I have nothing to be afraid of anyway. But I set my standards so high right from the beginning, that i couldn't forgive myself if i couldn't keep it up or even fail in a subject...

Even now I often feel like I'm not good enough or that I have failed in some way, although hardly anybody knows this or would take it seriously.

And as if all that wasn't already enough, there's something else.

_Someone_ else.

It didn't really dawn on me until last weak in the Hospital Wing. When after the fight in the Department of Mysteries I woke up there, not knowing where I was in the first moment and winded by the pain. Getting hit by a bludger straight in the rips had to be like this. I don't know if the pain made me let out a moan or anything.

Anyway, suddenly I heard soft footsteps, then someone was right beside me, took my hand, stroked my arm and my hair, whispered into my ear that everything was going to be o.k. and was there, as simply as that.

No, it wasn't Harry, as one might think. At this time he was in Dumbledore's office and had already enough issues of his own.

It was Ginny, who Madame Pomfrey had kept in the Hospital Wing for the Night.

And the odd thing was not that she was suddenly with me but that everything suddenly hurt a great deal less.

Is this normal to feel so much better when my best friend is with me? Because in the emantime she has become exactly this, my best friend, hasn't she?

What's normal anyway?

„Normal" is for most people me being Harry's and Ron's best friend, who is there, when they need her and who sometimes is the only one to jerk Harry back to sense if he takes his fear and his anger out on us.

„Normal" is me helping Harry together with Ron and all the Paeople around the Order of the Phoenix to fight against Voldemort and his supporters.

„Normal" is me being the brain of Gryffindor and perhaps of the whole school of Hogwarts. Mainly obsessed with books, studying and school rules and with a bee in her bonnet about house elves and justice in general.

It's not that I didn't want to do all that. I want to do my best in every respect.

I just want... that someobody just likes me because I'm _me_, Hermione Granger with the bushy hair, the books tucked under her arm and all the thoughts and feelings that most people don't see.

And if there's actually somebody who likes me like that, than it's _her_.

It's _her_, with whom I became more and more friendly, ever since Harry and me visited the finals of the Quidditch World Cup and stayed for some weeks at The Burrow after that.

It's her, who, when we shared a tent at the Quidditch World Cup had once again a nightmare about Tom Riddle, probably because of the masqueraded Death Eaters and the Dark Mark in the sky. She woke up shaking and crying and it hurt to see her like that. I went over to her bed, laid down beside her, wrapped my arms around her and tried to make her feel better. Eventually she fell asleep in my arms. And holding her felt so warm and so nice that it made up for many of this night's horrors. I wonder if it started then?

It's _her_, who found me –once more in the middle of the night, it's weird how so many important things seem to happen to me in the middle of the night- in the Common Room the night before the O.W.L.s. I sat there, buried in a textbook („Advanced Transfiguration"), as my exam nerves wouldn't have let me fall asleep anyway. She took the book out of my hands and I didn't put up a fight because I was too exhausted. When she gave then my tensed up shoulders a massage -nobody had done something like that for me before, so it kind of bowled me over-, i started to cry. Embarrassing. But obviously she didn't think I was being stupid or ridiculous. She just hugged me and held me. Took me then to my dormitory and stayed with me till I fell asleep after all.

It's _her_, who of course is not only my shoulder to cry on, but with whom i can fool about and laugh until I get dizzy. Like having flown three turns round Hogwarts Castle on a Hippogriff, only much better.

It's _her_, who isn't Fred's and George's Sister for no reason and who is able to put even me, the incurable sensible one, up to mischief.

It's _her_, who doesn't seem just to think highly of my brains, my reliability and my helpfulness but who maybe really likes me because I'm just _me_.

It's _her_, for whom I would do everything. With whom I can talk about everything. Well, almost everything.

It's _her_, who has probably no idea, how important she is to me and how much I would like to hold her in my arms again, now that, thanks to Madam Pomfrey's Healing Potions my ribs don't hurt anymore from Dolohov's nasty curse. And... maybe not only hold her...?

Oops!

It's _her_, whose footsteps I didn't hear, immersed in my confused thoughts and who is standing now right beside me.


End file.
